


I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads

by Alanine



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comical religious fanatics, F/M, Secret Identity, sibling hijinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:56:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4037734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alanine/pseuds/Alanine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tired of her brother's infrequent and uninformative missives, Mia Rutherford decides to make the journey to Skyhold. Something like hilarity ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads

At first, Mia thought her decision to join the group of pilgrims on their journey to Skyhold a sound one. The pilgrims were traveling with a guide who promised to “follow the very path the Herald herself had walked in her harrowing escape from Haven.” For a modest fee, of course. Mia was less interested in following the Herald’s footsteps than she was in the guards and wagon of provisions their fee paid for. It wasn’t prudent to travel alone with seemingly most of Thedas bent on fighting one another. The Inquisition had brought a halt to the worst of the conflict, but the roads were still far from safe.

The pilgrims were amiable companions, but after the first few days their enthusiasm began to wear on her. They rehashed the stories of the Herald’s deeds over and over again. Everything was _amazing_ or _splendid._ Mia wondered just how many superlatives they could apply before they ran out. And Maker forgive her, she could not abide the constant _singing_. Mia considered herself a devout Andrastrian, but there was a gulf between “devout” and “walk barefoot through the rocky mountains.”

“Everyone knows the Dalish go barefoot,” a woman named Moira patiently explained to her, her eyes shining with religious fervor. “The Herald would have trod these paths unshod.” Moira was the de facto leader of the pilgrims by dint of her exceptional ardor. Clearly it wasn’t for her exceptional judgment.

Mia was fairly certain none of these pilgrims had ever met a Dalish elf in their lives. Most of them appeared to be city dwellers seduced by romantic stories of the Herald and who were eager for an adventure, but who had no real experience of the rigors of travel. Privately, she could admit to herself she hadn’t been as prepared for them as she had imagined either.

Every day was a long, tedious march, broken up by bland meals with only a hard bedroll to look forward to each night. At least she was wearing shoes. None of the other pilgrims _complained_ , exactly. Certainly not where Moira could hear them. Most of them had quickly learned that any complaints meant enduring a lengthy anecdote about the Herald and how their suffering merely brought them closer to her and to holy Andraste. So now they waited until Moira wasn’t looking to surreptitiously rub their feet and moan quietly.

  
  


At home, it had seemed a fine idea, nay, her _duty,_ as the elder sister to march into the mountains after the brother she hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. Talk of the Inquisition was everywhere, and sometimes she thought everyone else knew more about what her brother was doing than she did. Too many instances of hearing he might be dead and too few letters containing real answers left her chafing with curiosity. Going to see for herself had been the only logical conclusion.

It wasn’t until she was crouched under the wagon with the other pilgrims beside her sobbing in terror that she realized what a grievous error she had made.

  
  


***

  
  


The Imperial Highway had been sparsely populated on the way to Redcliffe, but at least it _had_ been populated. Mostly by merchants with well-guarded wagon trains carrying their goods across Fereldan. Mia couldn’t help but notice the guards with the merchants were considerably more numerous than their own contingent, but she dismissed her misgivings. A caravan of goods would be a much more attractive target than a gaggle of singing Andrastians, of course their need for protection was greater. Sometimes they ran across groups of refugees camped along the road. Their backs were bent under the weight of their scant remaining possessions. Mia supposed they were carrying more than just the physical weight, and her heart ached when she saw their gaunt faces. The aches of her own body seemed small in comparison to their burden. And whatever else she might think of Moira, she appreciated the way the woman piously bullied their guide into parting with some of their provisions for each group they passed. The guide grumbled fiercely, no doubt because resupplying in Redcliffe would cut into his profits. Mia’s belly also protested the decreased rations, but she resisted any temptation to complain.

Once they’d passed through Redcliffe and started winding their way through the Frostbacks the road grew steep and punishing. The air in the mountains was chill despite the season and Mia yearned for the relative ease of the Imperial Highway. The road was mostly deserted, silent except for the whistle of the mountain winds. Occasionally the silence was broken by the thundering hoofbeats of a messenger on their sleek horses galloping past. Whenever she saw one with the eye and sword sigil of the Inquisition emblazoned on their uniform her heart lifted a little. They were getting so close now. And so this close to the seat of the Inquisition’s power, the ambush was particularly unexpected.

  
  


The bandits that rushed out of the rocks surrounding the narrow bend in the road looked as gaunt as the refugees, but their faces were far harder. The guard at the front of their party was cut down before he even had a chance to draw his sword from its scabbard. The rest of the guards surged forward, weapons drawn, but their movements seemed clumsy even to Mia’s inexperienced eye. These men were not the skilled fighters the guide had promised them. She looked to their guide for, well, _guidance_ , but he only screamed in panic and her heart faltered. The rest of the pilgrims clutched each other in fear and babbled prayers to Andraste and the Maker. The only person who seemed even remotely coherent was Moira. Mia locked eyes with Moira and saw the other woman’s spine stiffen slightly.

“Everyone under the wagon,” she ordered. The quaver in her voice was almost undetectable.

The pilgrims looked at each other in a daze. The guide shook his head violently.

“Screw this,” he spat, then turned and _ran_.

Mia watched him go with disbelief and not a small measure of disgust. He was just going to abandon them there?

He only made it a few yards down the road when an arrow hissed through the air and knocked him onto his back. There were more bandits coming up from behind them. Another arrow thudded into the side of the wagon a few inches away from one of the pilgrims and that was all it took. They all scrambled onto hands and knees and crawled under the wagon as quickly as they possibly could. It wasn’t a very large wagon, they had to cram themselves in tightly together. Mia lay curled up on her side and watched from the her narrow vantage point. Most of the others had their eyes squeezed shut tightly but Mia refused to look away.

Their guards had clearly been hired more for show and than skill. The bandits weren’t particularly skilled either, but they were more desperate and more numerous. It was an awkward fight, but that didn’t make it any less deadly. Several bandits had been killed, but there were casualties among the guards as well. Mia could see the tide of the battle was not going in their favor. The bandits coming up from behind them had almost reached the wagon. The dubious protection the wagon had offered from arrows was going to quickly become a liability if the bandits surrounded it.

Terror clawed at her, making her breath come in short gasps, but her mind was clear. She had no chance at all if she stayed under the damn wagon. She wriggled out and crept around to the front. The body of the first guard killed lay there, with his sword still on his belt. Mia drew it out of the scabbard and held it in front of herself with shaking hands. She tried to still them, but her nerves sang with fear and it was all she could do not to drop the thing. She had no idea what to do with a sword, but not having one seemed much worse.

Mia edged along the wagon back towards the road, keeping the wagon between her and the bandits approaching from the rear. If she could surprise just one of them maybe..

Mia felt a breath of wind on her neck that was oddly warm, then screamed when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Well, she tried to scream, the sound was cut off by a gloved hand on her mouth. She tried to spin around and slash at her attacker but the hands drew her tightly against an armored body.

“You’re going to stab _yourself_ with that thing,” a low voice hissed into her ear.

The hand on her mouth released her only to grab her wrist and twist until her fingers lost their grip on the sword. Mia struggled wildly and broke free of the hands that gripped her with surprising ease. She turned and found herself face to helmet-covered face with a woman in leather armor who, for some reason, was making no further efforts to kill her. Instead, she raised a finger to her lips and whispered firmly, “Hide.”

“But,” Mia started, but the woman stepped soundlessly past Mia and drew the daggers strapped to her back. Mia wasn’t sure where she was supposed to hide. The bandits coming up from the rear had reached the wagon. A few had already jumped into it and were riffling through the contents while the rest were spreading out to encircle it and the people trapped beneath it. One of them bent over and stabbed indiscriminately underneath. She sniggered meanly as the pilgrims screamed and tried to scramble away from her blade.

So quickly she almost couldn’t follow the movements, the woman darted around the side of the wagon and slid her daggers deep into the side of one bandit. He let out a wet gurgle and before he even hit the ground she pivoted towards the laughing woman. She had just lifted her head when the woman slashed her across the throat. By now the other bandits had seen her, and they yelled angrily. The two up in the wagon left off their pillaging and pulled their weapons. They lifted their swords and slashed down at her but she leapt back and whistled sharply. Even before the sound had died away the two bandits standing in the wagon collapsed with arrows in their throats.

There was a crashing noise from behind her and Mia had to stifle a scream as a body flew through the air and landed in a boneless heap near her. The largest man she had ever seen, wearing a helmet with giant horns on it, crashed into the huddle of guards and bandits, knocking opponents over indiscriminately. It was hard to tell over the din but she thought he was laughing.

Mia huddled behind the wagon and watched the woman with the daggers and the giant with the horns make short, messy work of the remaining bandits. Where the caravan’s guards fumbled, the woman and the giant fought with a frightening, brutal efficiency. The bandits yelled and swung their weapons at the woman, but she always managed to twist or bend out of the way. She was unbelievably fast. She wove between them, slashing one, then another, never standing still. The bandits seemed sluggish and clumsy in comparison, and just they ended up getting each other’s way in their effort to reach her. The giant required less fancy footwork. The fact that he was naked from the waist up and the bandits had sharp weapons didn’t seem to concern him in the slightest. He simply pummeled them and ignored any blows they directed at him as if he were actually covered in armor.

The fighting stopped so quickly it was almost jarring. The woman and the giant stood among the carnage of dead bodies and dazed guards. The guards stared at the newcomers warily, but quietly. They seemed confused to still be alive, but they wanted to stay that way.

The woman sheathed her daggers and held up her hands as she spoke to the remaining guards, “Alright then. Who wants to tell me who you all are?”

“Escorting these pilgrims,” said one.

“Said it’d be an easy job,” another interrupted.

“Roads were supposed to be safe!”

They all tried to speak over one another in their haste to explain. The woman took her helmet off to scrub a hand through her sweaty hair, a vaguely annoyed expression on her face, but she listened. The giant glanced around while the woman spoke to the guards. When his gaze landed on Mia, he ambled towards her. His skin was an unfamiliar grey and he was covered in scars. He crouched down when he reached her, but he was still enormous. Covered in blood and looming over her, he was absolutely _terrifying_. Mia shoved her fist over her mouth to stifle the panicked sound she felt herself on the verge of making. But his movements weren’t threatening.

“Hey there,” he said and smiled. His voice was friendly, but Mia’s nerves still buzzed, not quite convinced the danger had really passed. It took several long seconds for her overwhelmed mind to realize he wasn’t wearing a helmet, the man actually had enormous horns sprouting from his head. The realization wasn’t at all helpful in soothing her nerves. When she said nothing, he twisted his head to look under the wagon. There was a collective squeak of panic from the pilgrims when they saw him.

“Back up, Tiny, you’re scaring them.”

Mia glanced towards the voice and saw a stocky dwarf coming up the road with a dark-skinned human. The dwarf carried a bizarre looking crossbow casually on his shoulder while the man carried an ornate staff with a crystal embedded in the tip. The crystal glowed eerily and Mia felt the hair on her arms stand on end. A mage, then.

The dwarf’s voice finally jarred Mia out of her stupor. “Is his name really Tiny?” she asked in a small voice.

The dwarf chuckled and replied, “Nah, he calls himself Iron Bull.”

“ _The_ Iron Bull. A mercenary needs a memorable name,” Iron Bull said. “It’s all about reputation.”

“Well The Iron Bull isn’t going to help get those terrified people to come out from under that wagon,” the mage said snarkily.

The irritable banter was unexpectedly soothing and Mia felt relief start to seep into her body, loosening her tight muscles and leaving her slightly light-headed.

“I say we leave it to our fearless leader,” the dwarf said and nodded towards the woman with the daggers who had finished with the guards and was walking towards them.

Without her helmet on, Mia could see her long, sharply pointed ears. She was an elf? Mia was surprised by that. The few times she’d met elves, they’d been servants, not fighters. There was nothing subservient about this woman. There was something strange about her face, but it wasn’t until she drew nearer that Mia realized it was that her face was covered in tattoos. Starting at her chin, roots grew up towards her lips and widened into a trunk along the bridge of her nose and finally spread across her brow and around her eyes into the branches of a very stylized tree.

Not just an elf, a Dalish elf, like the Inquisitor. Mia felt a thrill of excitement that she quickly squelched. It was ridiculous to think that the Inquisitor was running around rescuing nobodies on the road with such a small entourage. Besides, none of them had the Inquisition sigil on any of their gear.

Meeting any Dalish elf was exciting though. Mia had grown up hearing stories about the Dalish elves who roamed the wilderness. Usually in those stories they were alternately mystical figures who communed with nature, talking to animals and trees, or they were an uncivilized, violent people who hated humans. This woman was certainly intimidating. She didn’t walk so much as stalk. She moved more like a wild woodland creature than a person. The tattoos turned her sharp-featured face into something even more alien and exotic. Yet her armor was utterly ordinary fare. Mia wasn’t sure what she had expected a Dalish elf to wear, but certainly not the same sort of sturdy leather she’d seen on human soldiers. This woman’s armor seemed to be of very fine quality, but it was hard-used. The wry smile on her face when she reached them was filled with humor, not hatred.

It was what was on her feet that surprised an inappropriate and entirely appalling giggle out of Mia.

“Boots! You’re wearing boots,” Mia blurted out.

The woman frowned faintly, confused. Her furrowed brow made the lines of the tattoo shift, like the boughs of the tree were rustling in the breeze.

“Sorry,” Mia managed in a choked voice. Explaining would probably only make it worse.

The elf smiled again sympathetically. “I suppose you’ve had a bit of a day.”

The dwarf grunted in agreement. “Curly’s going to have some explaining to do. I thought his men were patrolling these roads?”

The elf grimaced and said, “Cullen doesn’t need me to scold him, he’ll be hard enough on himself.”

Cullen! This close to Skyhold, Mia couldn’t imagine she was referring to a different Cullen who would have men patrolling the roads than the commander of the Inquisition forces. Maybe they _were_ Inquisition forces.

“You’re with the Inquisition?” Mia asked.

“Yes, you could say we’re _with_ the Inquisition.” The elven woman seemed amused, but Mia couldn’t tell why.

“Call me Ayeier,” she said, her accent taking on a distinctive, lilting note when she pronounced her own name. She spoke with a curious accent. She sounded mostly like a Marcher, but her pronunciations were a little scattered, as if she’d learned different words in different places.

The word Inquisition lured the rest of the pilgrims out from their hiding spot. Moira’s face was smudged with dirt and tears, but the zealous smile she had worn for the duration of their journey shined with renewed vigor.

“Andraste be praised!” she exclaimed, and turned to the others who followed behind her with her hands clasped to her breast. “She would not let harm come to her servants, we who walk the Herald’s path.”

Ayeier closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Ah. Pilgrims. I see. Come to gawk at the Herald, then?”

Moira drew herself up with an offended look, “We’ve come to pay our respects to the chosen of Andraste. To show our devotion by retracing her journey.” Moira’s smile turned patronizing and her eyes flicked to the tattoos on Ayeier’s face. “I wouldn’t expect an unbeliever to understand.”

Mia was appalled. These people had just saved their lives, insulting them was the last thing she wanted to do.

But the elven woman just smiled an odd little smile. “Ara seranna-ma, serah,” she said with an edge of sarcasm in her voice. “It’s true, I know little of Andraste and her mysteries.” She touched her fingertips to the tattoos on her forehead for emphasis, then continued, “As we are also bound for Skyhold, you can travel with us. Mother Giselle will sort you out when we arrive.”

Moira turned back to her flock and exhorted them into order. Mia was standing close enough that she heard Ayeier grumble, “Shemlens,” under her breath before stalking off. The three Inquisition soldiers all glanced at each other, a question on their faces that Mia couldn’t decipher.

The dwarf just shrugged and said, “She’s the boss. Just go with it.”

***

  
  


The attack had left them all bruised and tired, but Ayeier pushed them all to walk several more miles before the early mountain sunset forced them all to halt for the night. The draft horse pulling the wagon had been killed by the bandits so they had to carry as many of the supplies as they could themselves. The walking had been hard before, but now it was punishing. It made her think of the refugees, their party was now indistinguishable from them.

They built two fires, one for the pilgrims and one for the Inquisition party. The dwarf, whose name she learned was Varric, chose to settle down among the pilgrims. He’d said something about wanting to get the details right for later, whatever that meant. The pilgrims, with Moira at their center, began singing another one of the songs Mia had heard a dozen or more times on the way here. It seemed their spirits were returning.

Instead of joining them, Mia drifted towards the other fire. The other three, Ayeier, Iron Bull and the Tevinter mage, Dorian, were drinking something in mugs and laughing companionably together. These were the first Inquisition soldiers she’d had the chance to really speak to and she wanted to ask about Cullen. They didn’t exactly behave the way she had imagined. They all deferred to the elven woman, but in a casual, familiar way. It was hard to imagine they were part of an army commanded by her excessively proper brother. She hadn’t seen him in so long, but she was fairly certain he hadn’t changed that much. The parts of his letters about the Inquisition were always so carefully formal. Except for that last letter where he had slipped and called the Inquisitor by her first name. The tantalizing glimpse into his life that slip had revealed was what had prompted her into such a foolhardy decision. If Cullen proved to be as reticent in person as he was in his letters, she might get more interesting stories out of these three than she would from the man himself. The Inquisition was large enough that they might not know him _well_ , but surely they knew _something_.

When she reached the edge of the fire light, however, she paused, suddenly shy. Inwardly she laughed at herself. Willing to walk into danger to satisfy her curiosity, but unable to take these last few steps? She was saved from making a decision when Ayeier beckoned her over.

“Don’t feel like singing?” Ayeier asked kindly.

“Maker, _no_ ,” she said with such feeling that the elf laughed. Mia was a little embarrassed by her own vehemence.

“They’re good people, “ she said quickly, “Truly, but they’ve sung every night of the journey here. I don’t really share their.. um, enthusiasm.”

Ayeier smiled impishly. “Yes, I did notice you also don’t share their foolish lack of footwear.”

She poured something hot and steaming into a fourth cup and offered it to Mia, who took it gratefully and sat down by the fire. The mountain air had been chill during the day, but at night it was downright frigid. She wrapped her stiff fingers around the cup to warm them and took a sip. It was tea, though the flavor was unfamiliar to her. It was slightly sweet, with a hint of berries, but it had a pleasingly bitter bite that brought a little strength back into her tired limbs.

“Why _are_ none of them are wearing shoes?” Ayeier asked.

“They want to be like the Herald.”

The elven woman just looked confused.

“They wanted to literally follow in her footsteps,” Mia explained. “So we’ve come through Haven by the same route she supposedly used when they fled the battle there.”

“And that relates to walking barefoot how?”

Mia hesitated, feeling awkward about repeating what people said about the Dalish. Finally she said, “Moira.. says the Dalish don’t wear shoes.

Ayeier snorted. “That’s daft.” She held up her own booted feet as if they proved something.

Mia chewed on her lip and managed to say nothing. Ayeier sipped her tea and eyed her over the rim of her mug.

“Oh, go ahead and ask. It’s not like I haven’t heard the things the shems say about us.”

“It’s just that everyone.. I mean, Moira’s not the only one who’s said that.”

Ayeier quirked an amused smile and Mia let out the breath she was holding with relief.

“Well I’ve seen the Keepers and the Firsts go without shoes. But mages are all a bit daft, no matter which people they’re from.”

Dorian, put a hand to his chest and feigned an injured noise. “That hurt,” he sniffed. “We have fantastic shoes in the Imperium.”

Ayeier elbowed him and this time his grunt of pain sounded more genuine. Mia put her cup to her lips to hide her own smile.

“I was a hunter in my clan, “Ayeier said. “Too many rocks and thorns in the underbrush to go barefoot.”

“But you left your clan to join the Inquisition?” Mia asked. As much as she wanted to ask about her brother, she was equally curious about this woman. The Dalish were notoriously reclusive, but Ayeier seemed open and friendly, despite her annoyance with Moira. Mia couldn’t blame her for that, Moira’s holier than thou attitude had been grating on _her_ for the entire trip.

“I didn’t go off to find the Inquisition so much as the Inquisition found _me_ ,” Ayeier said with a wry smile. “My Keeper sent me to observe the Conclave at Haven. She knew whatever happened there would affect us as well. She didn’t count on me getting.. drafted, by Seeker Pentaghast.”

Ayeier lapsed into silence and Mia wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of Cullen. She glanced away to collect her thoughts and found her gaze drawn towards where the guards were resting. The white of their bandages were visible even in the flickering light of the fire. Mia’s spirits dimmed, reminded of the dead they’d left behind. Those men hadn’t had any business hiring onto the caravan as guards, but they hadn’t deserved death. She couldn’t muster the same sorrow for the fate of their guide. He had paid the price for his stinginess, and so nearly had the rest of them.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, looking at each of them in turn. “I don’t know if any of the others said it, but thank you for saving our lives.”

“Think nothing of it,” Dorian said airily. “We’re very _good_ at killing people.”

Mia found herself unable to resist a smile. The mage’s arrogance was strangely charming.

“Can I ask why you are on foot? We’ve seen other Inquisition soldiers on the road who had very fine horses.”

“The Dalish are forbidden from riding any animal except the halla,” Ayeier said solemnly.

Mia began to nod in acknowledgment, then stopped when Dorian snorted with laughter. Mia looked down and felt a blush creep across her cheeks.

“You shouldn’t tease her, boss,” Iron Bull chided.

Ayeier smiled ruefully and said, “The truth is, Varric’s afraid of horses. He says dwarves aren’t meant to be that far from the ground. And the horses are afraid of Iron Bull.”

Iron Bull grunted, “I look ridiculous on a horse anyway. My legs nearly touch the ground.”

“This is why I wanted to go without them,” Dorian complained.

“Aww, do your little foosties hurt?” Bull teased. “I could help with that.”

It hard hard to tell under his dark skin, but Mia thought she saw Dorian flush.

Ayeier rolled her eyes at them and smiled knowingly at Mia. This was apparently usual behavior for the two of them. Then she glanced towards the still-singing pilgrims and back at Mia.

“So,” she said with a considering look, “You’re not quite fanatical enough to sing and go barefoot, but you’re devoted enough to come this far on foot to meet the Herald?”

“No, well, _yes_ , but not just the Herald.” Mia saw an opening and she seized it. “I came to see my brother, Commander Cullen.”

Suddenly both Ayeier and Dorian were looking at her _very_ intently. Maybe a little _too_ intently. Mia tried not to squirm under their scrutiny.

“You’re _that_ Mia?”

_That Mia?_ It made Mia smile to think that her brother talked about her. Then she immediately wondered what he’d told them that made them so interested. She had quite a few things to ask her brother now.

“So you do know Cullen? I was hoping, but well, I’m sure the Inquisition forces are too large for him to know all his people.”

“Oh yes, she knows him _intimately_ ,” Dorian snickered. Ayeier gave him a withering look that did nothing to suppress his laughter.

“His letters are so vague,” she confessed, letting her frustration spill out. “I’m sure his duties to the Inquisition do keep him very busy, but when he does write he tells me so little about his life.”

Ayeier eyed her thoughtfully, “It’s true, his duties are very demanding. Still.. Surely he’s told you some things? What has he told you about the Inquisitor?”

The question sounded innocent enough, but after some of the hints she’d had in his letters, she wondered.

“He hasn’t said much,” she answered carefully. “Just that while all the stories aren’t true, she is as remarkable as they say.”

“That’s all?” She sounded oddly annoyed.

“Boss..” Iron Bull started, but Dorian interrupted him. “Oh don’t spoil it, you lummox.”

Mia looked between the three of them and frowned, knowing there was something here she didn’t understand. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling. She almost felt like she was the butt of a joke, and yet, they didn’t seem unkind. Dorian shuffled over to sit closer to her and draped an arm companionably over her shoulder.

“I bet you’ve got some excellent stories about what our strapping commander was like as a boy,” he said. “I can just imagine little Cullen running around with a toy sword. Please tell me he wasn’t always so stiff and proper?”

“I might have a few stories,” she said, with sly smile.

Well,” Ayeier said, clearly recognizing the bargain implied in Mia’s offer. “I might be convinced to tell you about our last game of Wicked Grace where he _literally_ lost his shirt.. among other things.”

***

  
  


Skyhold was even more magnificent than all the descriptions had lead her to believe. Nothing she had heard had prepared her for the sheer size of the place, the massive walls that really did seem to reach up and cradle the sky.

Mia walked along side Ayeier at the head of their little group, at the elven woman’s insistence. After swapping stories with Ayeier and the others until late they felt like something approaching friends. Mia wasn’t sorry to leave the pilgrims to their own devices.

Ayeier’s pace picked up noticeably once the stronghold came into view. She seemed impatient, and it made Mia wonder what was waiting for her there. Was she anxious to discharge her duty, or was it as simple as a yearning to be home? It was hard for her to imagine such an imposing place as a home for anyone, but she very much wanted it to be one for her brother.

For so many years she had watched helplessly from a distance, her only clues into his life words on a page. She had grieved for him after the Kinloch Circle had been nearly destroyed by demons. He had said very little about the events there, but she knew he had lost friends, and could read in what he didn’t say that he had suffered something even worse, something too painful for him to tell his sister. Then the letters had stopped coming. Her attempts to pry information out of the Templar Order had met only with silence and she had feared the worst. One of her letters must have reached him somehow though because after a few years of silence, she finally received a very chagrined letter from Cullen saying that he’d been transferred to Kirkwall. All her fear turned to anger and had he not been all the way on the other side of the Waking Sea, she might have traveled to deliver the blistering lecture she gave him in person. It seemed wrong that he go so far away from his family, but she hoped the distance from Kinloch might just be what he needed to heal. The letters started coming again, but infrequently. They were always so carefully worded, so achingly free of mention of personal relationships. Sometimes they seemed to come not from her brother, but from an angry stranger. The boy she’d known had been so eager to serve, to _protect_ ; not just the people from the mages, but also the mages from themselves. Kinloch had changed all that and her heart ached for it. He still wanted to serve, but it no longer seemed to bring him any joy. There was nothing she could do from so far away but write and pray.

Then the Kirkwall Circle had fallen and the entire world had gone mad. The rumors of blood magic and demons running rampant in the streets of Kirkwall had been eerily familiar. Mia had almost wondered if Cullen were cursed. With mages and Templars fighting each other openly across the continent, his angry rhetoric about the dangers of magic had appeared almost prophetic in retrospect. When he had broken with the Templars to join the Inquisition, she had been relieved. The rebel mages frightened her, but she couldn’t quite bear the thought of Cullen killing the people he’d once sworn to protect. He probably wasn’t any safer as part of the Inquisition forces, but his duty to the Templars had brought him nothing but sorrow.

After that there were still far too few letters for her liking, but the way they’d changed had stirred a flicker of hope to life. True, they were mostly dismal reports of fighting and frightening magic, but now and then there was a flash of humor. Her brother had developed a keenly honed distaste for politics and his indignant descriptions of this dignitary or that noble made her smile. But it was the unmistakable undercurrent of wonder that seeped into his words when he wrote about the Herald of Andraste that gave her the most hope. His faith in the Maker had never faltered, but it had grown dark. The appearance of the Herald after the Breach had ripped apart the sky had brought back some of the light. She was an enormously powerful symbol to the rest of the world. To have inspired all the Pilgrims to leave their comfortable homes and make the journey into the mountains, she had to be. That wasn’t what had inspired Mia to make the journey. It was the sense she had gotten that she was far more than just a symbol to her brother that stirred her so strongly. She had spent too long hanging back. She wanted to see for herself.

  
  


With the end literally in sight, the pilgrims were eager to reach it and they found hidden reserves of strength. For them this was more than the promise of safety after a grueling journey, it was the realization of a dream. They practically vibrated with excitement as they crossed the long bridge that lead to the gates. Mia thought they would burst into some unbearably triumphant hymn but for once, they were too overwhelmed to say anything. Perhaps they felt as she did, that their words were too paltry to offer this place. Or maybe they had just run out of songs.

Mia stared up at Skyhold, the end of all their journeys, with a jumble of emotions that left a physical pain in her chest. Then she noticed Ayeier wasn’t staring at the walls, but was staring at _her_. The smile that spread across her face was so wicked Mia nearly stopped walking.

“By the Gods, this is going to be marvelous.”

Mia wanted to ask what in the Maker’s name she was expecting, but they passed through the open gate of the fortress and were thrown into a bustle of distracting activity. What looked like a small marketplace with several stalls had been set up along the lower walls of the fortress and it buzzed with activity. Just past the market stalls was a building she assumed was a stables, based on the smell wafting towards her on the breeze. After the vast and empty wilderness, the noisy throng of people was overpowering. The variety of clothing and accents were dizzying. Richly dressed nobles from Orlais stood beside Fereldan merchants and Rivani craftsmen. There were people everywhere in Inquisition colors, including willowy elves and stocky dwarves along with humans from every corner of the world.

“Varric,” Ayeier said, “Take everyone up to the main courtyard, if you don’t mind.” Then she grinned and added, “Be certain Mia finds the commander.”

Varric laughed. “Don’t you want to do it?” he asked.

“And deprive you of the experience? Never.”

“You’re not scared of what Curly will say, are you, oh fearless leader?”

She just grinned wider and said, “I don’t want to distract from the family reunion, do I? I won’t be long. I trust you’ll give me a _detailed_ report later.”

Mia frowned at them but allowed Varric to lead her and the rest of the pilgrims away from the activity of the marketplace and up a steep set of stairs to the upper courtyard. The walls rose yet higher and Mia could just see the heads of people patrolling the wide battlements. At this time of day the courtyard stood in the shadow of the great hall towering above them. On either side of the door hung beautifully detailed tapestries, one stitched with the now familiar sword and eye of the Inquisition. The other tapestry depicted a half-mask made of vines and leaves.

Iron Bull and Dorian peeled off from the group, making noises about their dire need for alcohol. The pilgrims had recovered their voices and were trilling happily over finding themselves somewhere far more worldly than they had ever been before. Only Moira seemed less than ecstatic. She looked around at the distinctly earthly fortress with a tight smile on her face. Skyhold was breathtaking, but it didn’t feel like the sacred residence of anyone with any measure of divinity.

Varric steered the group towards a practice area where soldiers drilled with swords and shields. Here the noise of voices was replaced by the din of clashing steel. A man in armor and draped in a burgundy surcoat stalked through the press, shouting to be heard over the clamor.

“If you’re attached to that head of yours, recruit, keep your shield _up_.”

The man’s voice was stern and commanding and the blows of the pair he scrutinized grew noticeably harder in response to his supervision. Mia stared at him for several long breaths in shock while her brain caught up to what her heart already knew.

His hair was straighter now. She wondered why that was the first thing she noticed. There was a prominent scar that cut through his lip. How had he gotten that? When? She had known he would be older, but it was one thing to know and another to _see_. The gangly adolescent he had been when he left was like a ghost haunting the hard planes of this stranger’s face.

Cullen caught sight of them as he scanned the rest of the recruits and when he did, his gaze sharpened. For a moment her breath caught when he thought he had recognized her. But it wasn’t her he had seen.

“Varric!” he called, “If you’ve returned does that mean..”

“She’ll be along shortly, Commander,” Varric interrupted. “Until then, you have another visitor. We found..”

Moira pushed herself past Varric before he had a chance to finish his sentence.

“Commander? Commander Cullen?” she gushed. “At last, someone of some authority. We are pilgrims, come on a most holy expedition, that we might commune with the blessed Herald..”

Cullen’s mouth twisted with annoyance, but his voice was polite, if a bit brisk as he cut her off mid-speech. “I bid you welcome, but I’m afraid you’ll have to speak to one of the chantry mothers for religious matters.”

He frowned at Varric and his expression seemed to ask the dwarf why he was bringing these people to his attention. The expression wasn’t lost on Moira whose beatific smile fell and her spine stiffened at the imagined slight. Varric coughed to stifle a chuckle at Moira’s indignation.

“Actually I was talking about her,” he explained and nodded towards Mia.

Mia brushed at her clothing, suddenly acutely aware of their travel-stained appearance. Standing in this place, surrounded by the trappings of power she could barely understand, she felt uncomfortably small. What did he see when he looked at _her_? The older sister who’d bandaged skinned-knees or a woman he no longer recognized?

She hated feeling so small. So instead, she got angry. She squared her shoulders and before she knew she was going to do it, she slugged him hard in the shoulder. And immediately regretted it. The cursed man was wearing armor. She shook her stinging hand and hissed in pain

It was then she noticed that the clash of sword on shield had quieted and all of the soldiers had turned to watch the spectacle of the commander being punched by a civilian. Their commander. The man whose orders they were meant to follow without complaint. Inwardly she cringed as she realized what an affront to his dignity she had committed, but it was too late to back down now.

So in her best elder sister voice she said, “That’s for letting me think you were dead after Haven.”

“Mia?” He looked bewildered, and then to her chagrin he dropped his eyes to his feet and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Mia felt her breath hitch unexpectedly at the sight. It was exactly the same gesture he’d used when being scolded as a child. For a breath, all the years since they’d last been together fell away and he was just her little brother again.

“Sorry, I.. Wait.” He looked up again and seemed to remember himself. “How did you get here from South Reach? With them? I’ve heard reports of new bandit activity.” He frowned at the party of pilgrims and took in the condition of their remaining guards. She could almost see his thoughts churning.

“Yeah..” Varric said. “We might have found them in a bit of a scrape.”

Cullen’s expression darkened but Varric said soothingly, “Easy now, Curly, she was swindled. It was kind of a genius racket, really. Find gullible people, promise protection, hire on the cheap and rely on the Inquisition to actually guard the roads. At least he got what was coming to him.”

Cullen didn’t seem the least bit mollified. He glared at her with the same sort of angry concern she had felt for him. The irony wasn’t lost on her.

“You should have contacted me,” he said, “I could have..”

Cullen broke off mid-sentence when they both heard murmurs of, “Your worship,” and “Herald,” from the people milling around the courtyard. Cullen turned towards the voices and his stern expression softened. The slightest hint of a lopsided smile tugged at his lips while his eyes searched the crowd. The scar on his lip changed it, but the smile was familiar. She turned her own gaze towards the crowd, eager herself to meet the woman who apparently was responsible. She could see people shifting to make way for someone, but she only saw the elven scout in her plain, travel-worn leathers followed by a dark-skinned woman in ornate chantry robes. Mia felt a sinking feeling in her gut as she started putting together all the clues she’d had during the journey, but another part of her mind still stridently denied her growing realization.

It was too mortifying to consider. It could not possibly be true.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen said and her rosy bubble of denial shattered. “I’m pleased you’ve returned safely.”

Mia felt her face growing hot and was almost too distracted to notice how warmly he spoke.

“You’re..” Mia squeaked, her mortification tightening her vocal chords until she couldn’t speak. She was saved from speaking when Moira burst out, “ _You’re_ the Herald of Andraste?”

“There are some who would call me that,” the woman who, impossibly, was the Inquisitor said. “I don’t make the claim myself. Mother Giselle,” she said to the woman in the Chantry robes and nodded towards the pilgrims who were murmuring among themselves uncertainly. “I believe these people are in the need of your guidance. As an ‘unbeliever’ I have been unable to tend to their spiritual requirements.”

Moira make a choking noise. The Inquisitor said it with a completely straight face, but she saw the jab register in the abashed faces around her. Mia felt her throat unclench a little as she felt a trickle of amusement. She couldn’t tell if Moira was appalled that she had been so _disrespectful_ towards one of the most powerful people in Thedas.. Or if she was upset that the Herald wasn’t anything like what she had expected. Mia strongly suspected the latter.

“And one does not need to believe in the Maker to walk his path,” Mother Giselle said patiently. Her statement had the sound of an old argument. “Come,” she said as she gathered up the dazed pilgrims and lead them away.

Varric just smirked, bowed slightly and said, “Well, your Inquisitorialness, I think that’s my cue.”

“Yes, quite,” Aoire said. To the guards who were suddenly very intent on inspecting the edges of their weapons for nicks she said, “I need to borrow the commander. You’re all dismissed.”

Cullen watched Varric and the others go with narrowed eyes and his lips clamped tightly together. Once they were out of earshot he said, “You didn’t tell them who you were? Aoire!” His exasperated tone strengthened Mia’s amusement.

Cullen’s pronunciation of her name was subtly different, he couldn’t quite manage the same musical lilt of the Inquisitor’s pronunciation. The way he said it, it sounded much closer to the way it had been spelled in his letter.

“Why Commander, so informal.”

“Evidentially you don’t care for your title.”

“Herald isn’t my title.”

“Inquisitor bloody well is.”

Cullen folded her arms and glowered down at her. He was the very picture of offended dignity in his fine clothing and straight posture. He wasn’t her little brother, he was the Commander of the Inquisition. Next to him Aoire seemed so slight in her grubby, unadorned leathers. Mia thought anyone else subjected to that glare would have wilted under the weight of it. Aoire wasn’t the least bit intimidated by Cullen’s displeasure. That as much as anything convinced Mia. She might wear her authority lightly, but it was unquestionably there.

“And have them tripping over themselves all the way back to Skyhold?” Aoire asked with an annoyed gesture. “Did you see them, Cullen? They weren’t wearing _shoes_. Apparently the Herald is so holy she doesn’t stub her toes like the merely mortal.”

Mia bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. She shouldn’t find this funny, but she couldn’t help it. Evidently neither could Cullen, because his lips twitched into a smile. He smoothed the smile from his face quickly enough, but the effort it took was apparent.

“Besides, you’re in no position to lecture me about not telling people things.”

“What could you possibly mean?”

Aoire smirked and stepped close enough to him to put her hands on the arms he still had crossed over his chest. He softened a little at her touch, but Mia saw him glance at her uncomfortably. Aoire noticed the direction of his glance.

“Yes, Mia and I had a nice chat on the road here. Seems I wasn’t the only one leaving out vital information.”

Cullen cleared his throat. “I was going to..” he started but she just slid her hands up his arms to his shoulders and pressed as closely as his crossed arms would allow. “This isn’t really the place for..”

“Not the place for a proper greeting? Careful,” she warned, “Or I’ll think you didn’t miss me.”

He made an exasperated noised but he unfolded his arms and took her face in his hands. He pressed his forehead to hers and murmured softly, “I did miss you.”

Then he kissed her. Aoire lifted herself on the tips of her toes until she could wrap her arms around his neck. Mia smiled to herself, filled with a sense of smug triumph. She had been right!

When they finally broke apart Aoire smiled and said, “Better. But we can catch up later. I should leave you to your sister. I imagine you have a lot to talk about.” She smiled at Mia apologetically, “I hope you’ll forgive my deception.”

“Of course, your worship,”Mia said and chuckled when Aoire made a face. “Aoire, then.”

“Good.” She dropped her arms and sighed, “I should find Josephine. It must have taken a great deal of restraint on her part not to pounce on me as soon as I arrived with a list of things that need my attention.” She shook her head sadly. “Pilgrims or nobles, I’m honestly not sure which group is worse.”

“I know which group _I’d_ prefer,” Cullen said with distaste and let her go with obvious reluctance.

“At least the nobles don’t _sing,_ ” she called back over her shoulder as she left.

That made Cullen laugh and Mia felt tears unexpectedly spring to her eyes and she tried to blink them away surreptitiously. He seemed happy. She’d been right about that, too. She drew back her arm and punched Cullen in the shoulder again, this time more gently, mindful of his armor.

“Ha, I knew it! You could have told me in your letters and saved me the trip.”

He looked at her, a half smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose I did bring this on myself.”

Then to her surprise, she thought she saw his eyes get a little brighter too. “I’m glad you’re here, Mia.”

Standing here with him she though that maybe coming here hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

 


End file.
